Better Than Rum
by muckfuffins
Summary: Several weeks after the events of 2x11 take place, Emma is left alone in her sheriff's office with a bottle of whiskey and some paperwork... when she gets a certain visitor late into the night.
1. Rum

**A/N: **Thanks again to Kate (fic-oritdidnthappen tumblr) for betaing again! Seriously, best beta ever! This is my one-shot for the CS Saturday theme this week - Drunk!Hook. Also it's my first time writing anything remotely smutty soooooo bear with me hahah. Enjoy ;)_  
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* * *

_This is going to be a long night…_

Emma could hear the clock on the wall ticking silently as she shuffled through old papers regarding the accident several weeks ago – she hadn't bothered to file them away as soon as she was finished with them, and she had no desire to do so now. For the past _how many weeks has it been_ – they had been piled up on the corner of her desk, untouched. The lamp on her desk was the only source of light that she had bothered to leave on, and beside it sat a bottle of MacCutcheon Scotch Whiskey that she had inconspicuously taken from Mary Margaret's stash. She filled her glass up again and took a sip before looking back down at the papers – she squinted as the words had begun blurring under the light.

The ice jingled when she placed the glass back down.

"You stupid pirate," Emma uttered to herself. She rubbed her hand against her forehead, vexed. If he hadn't come into Storybrooke via magical portal bean or whatever the hell he used, she would have been at home in her pajamas with her bottle of whiskey instead of sitting in this mundane office in this uncomfortable chair. _If only I could really drink all of my troubles away…_ "And this pirate."

"What about pirates?" His cool, accented voice from the door startled Emma out of her seat and sent shivers up the back of her neck.

Emma turned around and when she spotted Hook standing there wearing his long leather coat, she bit back a smile of amusement. "How did you–"

"Pirate, remember?" He gestured to his hook before stepping in nonchalant, like Emma had welcomed him. His shoes clicked quietly against the floor, sending echoes bouncing off of the walls and breaking the silence that rang in Emma's ears. "You left the door unlocked."

Emma raised her eyebrows in a bout of confusion. "That is not an open invitation to come in whenever you want," she warned him. She tilted her head back with another swig of whiskey, enjoying its slow burn down her throat.

Ever since the disaster, the few times that Emma had spoken to Hook and they _were not_ yelling at one another, she had noticed differences in him that she hadn't seen before. Tonight his smile was especially peculiar – what Emma remembered of him were his cocky smirks when he threw his jests and pet names at her. Tonight it left a sour taste at the back of Emma's mouth. Whatever it was that happened before the accident, Emma had no idea, and in this very moment, she didn't care to know.

"What are you doing here anyway?" Emma got to her feet and roamed to the other end of the office. She stood on her tiptoes and pulled a glass down off of a shelf above her head, followed by a bottle of rum which, funnily enough, had a pirate plastered on the front of the label. When she arrived back at her desk, she poured the rum lazily into a glass and slid it over to Hook, who took a seat across from her.

She watched as Hook brought the glass to his nose and swirled it around, sniffing. "What is this?" he asked – he was staring down his nose at the rum whirling in the glass.

"Captain Morgan rum," Emma answered. She managed to stifle her giggles when Hook picked up the bottle and regarded the red-coated captain with thorough distaste.

"He looks like a bloody _fool_," Hook objected. "Is this what your people think pirates look like?" It didn't take long after his first sip of the rum for it to spray all over Emma's desk. "BLOODY HELL! THIS IS RUBBISH!" With a slam, the glass found its way back to the table and Hook was glowering at it as if it had slapped him in the face. "Is this what people in this realm call rum?"

Emma was not surprised. "The less rum there is for you, the more there is for me." She lifted her glass at Hook with a fiendish grin, to which he responded with a scowl.

He let out a deep sigh and raised his glass as well. "Life's too short, I suppose…"

Clinking their glasses together, they sipped their drinks, Hook still uncertain about his own – and then they went quiet.

"_Ohh,_ Hook, I–"

He looked up at her, bemused. One thick black brow rose high on his forehead and he gave her a little hum.

"About everything I said…" she started slowly, trying her best to avoid eye contact. "About the accident, and about Gold…"

"It's alright, lass," he disrupted, waving his hook around as if it would shake off the memories. His eyes fell to his fingers wrapped around the glass and he tipped it back and forth broodingly. Hook lifted it again and drank the rum that remained – he extended his arm and motioned for Emma to pour more.

From there, several minutes of silence ensued during which the ticking clock rang in Emma's ears. Every once in a while, there was the awkward sipping noise as Hook carefully sampled the rum in small gulps. When Emma would sneak a glance at him, his eyes were still downcast – unusual for Hook. Since Emma, Mary Margaret and David found him wounded on the side of the road, he hadn't been the man Emma remembered. His face was missing the cocky visage it frequently boasted. There were several new glasses poured in the meantime, and Emma couldn't help but inquire with herself how many sorrows this pirate was trying to drink away – the rum was disappearing quicker than her whiskey.

"I came here to apologize." By now, all that remained of the Captain Morgan was enough for a small sip that Hook had taken directly from the bottle. "I came here to apologize to you, lass." He repeated it several times, each repetition growing more and more incoherent.

Emma jumped at the sudden conversation."What?"

Hook studied the lamp, not once looking at Emma. "You asked me what I was here for," he answered slowly. It looked as if he was concentrating on forming a sentence. "I wanted to apologize." She noticed his index finger fidgeting nervously with his thumb and there was a slur in his speech.

"What do you need to apologize for that you haven't already?" Emma's own head was spinning now – she wasn't sure if it was due to the whiskey or this peculiar exchange. _It was the whiskey_. She poured herself a new glass and downed it in a mere three gulps. Her cheeks flushed and her throat burned.

_Yup, definitely the whiskey_.

"For everything."

Emma was more taken-aback than she had hoped for. Her mouth gaped open at him before she closed it again, her brain unable to form words. This man was vulnerable, he was exposed. She saw him tense up when he saw her face and his brow wrinkled with concern. His walls were collapsing and Emma managed to convince herself that it was the rum that was talking. "No, we already talked about this, Hook." She scrambled to her feet and paced about the room nervously.

Hook was standing upright, too – he was grasping onto the back of the chair and he retrieved his balance. "No, Emma," he told her simply, pointing a wavering finger at her. "We didn' talk about this." He followed her across the office toward the bar cells, stumbling a little, his eyelids drooping.

He was definitely further gone than she'd hoped.

Fear took over Emma as Hook ambled towards her – he had drunk the rum to its last drop and his demeanor had changed. He was back to his brash self, but there was a sense of inconsistency that settled in Emma's stomach. "What else is there to talk about?" She raised her chin arrogantly at Hook as he inched closer and stopped when her back found itself against the cell doors, her feet unable to carry her any further. "Hook…"

"You say my name like that again and I may just have other things to apologize for come dawn," he hissed. He was taking his time shuffling nearer, an almost profane smile flattering his lips that made Emma's stomach flip.

Emma's fingers gripped the metal rods and she could feel her knuckles numbing. "Hook, are you okay?" Her voice pitched several octaves higher. She couldn't build the distance between them anymore – it was shrinking now, and echo from Hook's shoes against the tiles was aggravating.

"Oh, I'm fine now…" Emma could hear the rum in his accent and could see it in the steps he was taking. "I've always been fine, Swan. A little rum ne'er hurt a pirate." His face was dark and his devilish grin was shadowed in such a way that left Emma feeling both frightened and intrigued. "_Yo ho…_"

Emma looked at him through her lashes as he stopped in front of her, the toes of their shoes touching; she could smell the rum in his ragged breaths and she choked on her own air, extinguishing her sudden need to inhale the oxygen that remained between their faces. "No, Hook. You haven't been fine." Her voice dropped to a mutter as if there had been someone else in the office listening to them.

"For e'erything, Swan…" He whispered this several times, each repetition growing increasingly softer. "I'm sorry."

"What the hell are you doing?" Emma felt his warm hand wrap around her waist, the other shivered at the cold metal of his hook. Her mind tried to object to him, but the stirrings inside of her stomach were telling her to close the gap, to reach out for his warmth – but she did all she could to ignore them. She had had enough of this pirate and yet, when he was gone, she found herself wondering why he wasn't _there. Here._

"I want to trust you," Emma uttered. She wrung her hands free of his grasp and placed them firmly on his shoulders – she gave him a gentle push, enough to make him take a step backward, but not enough to tip him over.

Pain loomed on Hook's face – a similar pain she saw on top of the beanstalk when she had cuffed him, and in Rumpelstiltskin's cell. "Then _trust me_."

All of the yelling, the disagreements, the fighting that blazed between them these past weeks – it all abandoned Emma. _Trust me_. Those two words had enough power behind them to make Emma's head melt away. Perhaps she was further gone than she had initially conceived; something feverish overthrew her and she drifted to him.

_I can try_.

Hook's face warped from surprise to thirst in a matter of seconds. He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. The warmth coiled around Emma's wrist again and she was stumbling backward, foot over foot, until they landed against the cell bars; she felt them bore painfully into her back. The cold metal of the hook scraped against the inside of her arm, leaving a trail of shivers behind. Emma's hand found its way to Hook's chest and she pressed her palm against the heat of his skin – her gaze fluttered up to meet his and he looked at her, puzzled and intoxicated.

She gave an alleviated sigh when she felt his heartbeat, strong and fast.

"He ripped her heart out," Hook suddenly spoke up, swallowing. "He crushed it."

Emma held her breath as her eyes flitted across his face, studying the sudden changes in his disposition. "Who?"

"Rumpelstiltskin…" He wavered for a moment as if he was unsure if he wanted to finish his sentence, but when Emma pressed her fingers earnestly against his chest, he glanced up at her with a lost gaze. "Milah – he ripped Milah's heart out. He crushed it, right in front of me." For a short-lived instant, Emma swore she saw the sad memories flash across Hook's face.

For only a second, Hook granted Emma a glimpse into his broken world.

_That was why he threw himself in front of the car_. It all made sense to her now. "You just wanted to be with her again," she concluded aloud, and Hook stared at her. "Hook, it's been over three hundred years." Emma had to tread carefully now, wary to not press any of the wrong buttons. "Milah wouldn't have wanted you to die. She would hate to know that you tried, wouldn't she? Don't you think it's time you moved on?" Her fingers dug into the coarse hairs on his chest.

Hook looked taken-aback and Emma winced. "You think saying 'move on' is going to make this all go away, love?"

The lump in Emma's throat was growing. "Long ago, there was a sheriff named Graham…" she began. Her hand fell from Hook's chest to her side. "He was convinced that he didn't have a heart, that he was the huntsman – he believed in the curse when I didn't." She held back the tears that were forming in her eyes. Just like Milah was to Hook, Graham was nothing more than a memory; a memory of a love that could have been. Her walls had come down, she allowed him in, and then – "He died… right here." _Right here_. "All because I didn't believe him."

Emma felt uncomfortable. She could feel her defenses cracking, crumbling. The barriers that kept her safe for so many years were coming down and she didn't understand. This was the first time she had spoken to Graham since his death, and never once did she believe it would be to _Captain Hook_.

"How did'e die?" Hook asked, eyelids still wilting from the alcohol.

"I – I don't know…" Emma replied faintly. "He just dropped."

Hook's gaze narrowed thoughtfully and he cocked an eyebrow. "Just dropped?"

Emma nodded.

He inched back into her space and Emma shrunk back as his hand cupped her cheek – there were hot tears staining her cheeks now. "Swan–" Concern arose on his face and his voice.

"I had to move on," she interrupted. _No_, she didn't want to talk about him much longer. She couldn't. He was only a memory. "We can't stay stuck in the past, or else we'll never be able to be happy again." Henry's smile filled her head and she grinned to herself – the tears, however, were still falling. They were wiped away by Hook's gentle thumb to which Emma grew dazed at the gesture. "Hook?"

He lowered his gaze and his and his words slurred together into something unintelligible. Hook's eyes were focused on Emma's lips as he tightened the gap between them – his breaths were testing her and Emma felt herself faltering. "I can try," he whispered.

"How drunk are you?" She was certainly questioning her _own_ dryness.

Hook's mouth grazed her own and Emma's breathing was uneven. "Oh, you have _no idea_, lass." His hand enveloped the back of her head and gripped her neck – he yanked her closer, their lips painfully colliding. Hey tripped back toward the cell bars and his hand muffled the impact against Emma's head. Her hips slammed into the bars; she could feel the sharp point of the hook pinning her arm at her side.

It took Emma longer to digest what was happening. Hook's kiss was hungry and demanding, wet against her mouth. Emma's body took over and soon enough, her eyes batted shut, and she was inviting him in deeper. She bucked her hips forward and felt him press against her, forcing her deeper. He broke away from her and nibbled on her lower lip, his moans vibrating on her reddening skin.

"Emma…" he growled. Emma's mouth fell open and he captured it again – she felt him inhaling her oxygen like it was his last breath. He was making her head whirl, and Emma bid farewell to any self-control she had left within her. He assaulted her mouth with his tongue and she savored the flavour of drunkenness in his kiss.

"You taste like rum…" she gasped when her mouth was unoccupied. Her head rolled back onto his hand as Hook lowered and devoured her neck, leaving a trail of purple marks behind. He groaned against her and Emma trembled, a gasp falling from her lips.

"Oh, love." Hook's voice was harsh. "You taste _better _than rum."

Every ounce of Emma's being trembled under him; Hook's cool voice was making her body do things she would never have dreamed of. Nor did she ever envision herself alone, intoxicated and kissing an even more muddled pirate. It seemed outlandish to her, but at the same time, it felt _right_. This time, it was Emma who locked their lips together; she opened her mouth, deepening the kiss, inviting him to dive in – Hook snatched the opportunity the instant it was given. Her hands were grasping at the collar of his jacket, tempting him fiercely. She pulled it off of his shoulders and let it drop to the floor as his own hand reached under her shirt, his sweating hand caressing every inch of skin he could find – his hook tickled the small of her back and dragged along the waistline of her jeans.

He grabbed a handful of her hair in his fist and gently yanked her head back, and his mouth ravaged her softness. He grinned wickedly against her as a whimper departed her. She pulled his hips closer to hers and wrapped her leg around his so that he fell forward onto her, weighing her down. Emma's inhibitions deserted her long ago – she stopped caring.

Hook elevated her off of the floor with an arm, and spun around to move toward a flatter surface. The rum was making him tilt a little: they crashed into the wall before he slammed her down onto her desk, the papers falling out of their folders and littering the floor. The lamp crashed onto the tiles and it rolled on its side before Hook kicked it out of his way. It wasn't long before he was pushing her onto her back with his rough kisses, the passion seeping between them raw. The cold metal was biting at her jawline.

Emma sat upright on the desk – he was too far; his lips too far from hers. The range between their bodies not close enough, Emma wanted more. Her fingers ran through his hair as their tongues wrestled in a power struggle, Emma inhaling his hot, jagged breaths. His hunger was lustful and profane, but there was a certain sorrow to it. Emma wanted to kiss it away his pain, if only it was that easy. His hand was wandering all over her body – to her waist, hips, breasts, neck, face. "Hook…" she managed to cry out against his mouth as his own annihilated it.

He stopped and pulled away from and their gazes locked together. His bright blue eyes shimmered in the dim light, and their shadows were etched in the ceiling above them. "It's Killian, love," he snarled against her cheek, his fingers working at the buttons of her blouse.

Emma's top fell easily off of her shoulders and he took a minute to take her in with a sharp breath. His hand found the waist of her jeans once again and it didn't hesitate to lunge beneath, eliciting a soft moan from Emma as a wave of heat washed over her body. His wet mouth caught the rest of her cries and he sucked the air out of her lungs, the taste of rum and peppermint settling on her tongue.

"_Killian_." This man possessed every bit of her existence; she lifted her hips off of the desk against his hand with the help of his arm, and his name slipped off of her lips again.

_Evil had never felt so good_.

* * *

He stirred in the bed as the sunlight peeked through his eyelids. He turned onto his other side and the uncomfortable mattress creaked beneath him.

"You're awake." A familiar voice called out to him from across the room.

When Killian sat upright, the blonde was sitting in her chair at her desk, a sandwich nestled between her fingers and a smile resting on her lips. His head was pounding and he raised his hand to block out the brightness hat shone directly onto his face through the window. He got to his feet and stumbled over his own feet to Emma – he was clearly still a little drunk from the previous night. _Oi_.

"What was I doing asleep in prison?" he asked. He took a seat on the corner of Emma's desk and noted the papers in disarray on the floor. "Shouldn't you pick those up?" He motioned his hook at them, and Emma ignored him.

Emma placed her delicious-looking sandwich onto her plate and crossed her arms on the desk in front of her, her head tilting slightly. "You don't remember anything from last night?" Her voice was weak and broken.

"Why, did something happen?"

Emma's lips turned downward into a frown as she shook her head. "Uhh–" There was a pause. "No, nothing happened. You did drink an entire bottle of rum, though. Impressive." Her tone was not in the least bit convincing, but Killian let it slide.

"That rum was atrocious," he complained. He licked his lips, the taste still lingering at the back of his mouth. 'Next time you invite a pirate to merry-making with rum, pour him some _real_ rum."

"So you do remember?" Emma's eyes were gleaming with hope.

"Remember what?"

She heaved a great sigh and snatched her sandwich back up again. "Nothing." Emma took a bite of her sandwich and chewed in silence.

"Alright then, love. If you say so." Killian elevated an eyebrow at her before he made for the door. He swung it open and halted in the doorway, looking over his shoulder with a soft smile. "We should do it again sometime… but with better rum, of course." When Emma gave him a soft "yeah", he turned on his heel and departed, shutting the door behind him.

_Of course I remember, lass. It's just a pity you're too ashamed to discuss it._ Killian sighed tenderly to himself and exited the building, his head still hammering painfully.


	2. Whiskey

**A/N:** This one was un-betad so please excuse any grammar, spelling or OOC mistakes! This was done for this Saturday prompt: Emma seduces Hook, so I thought well, I suppose it wouldn't hurt to write a sequel of sorts to the first part. I hope you all like it, I don't think it's my best but I tried haha.

* * *

The last time he had seen Emma was several days – no, almost a week – ago when he had left the sheriff station. His head throbbed in pain that morning, he had felt cross and bleak and Emma's words still echoed in his ears.

'_Nothing'_ she had said to him rigidly, after their persistent questioning.

A part of Killian desperately wanted to believe that Emma was simply too occupied with her sheriff duties to see him. He had wanted to go to her, to ask her again if she was certain, why she was avoiding him – his gut told him otherwise. When he did try, his feet stopped in their tracks and his mind froze, and the lump in his throat grew. How much longer they could avoid one another, Killian didn't know. The fact that they were living under the same roof and they still could not find it within themselves to approach one another troubled him.

By the time her keys jingled on the other side of the door, he was already in his bed. When Killian awoke in the morning, her shoes were gone. Her efforts were clear – they left him with a sickness in the pit of his stomach. Her absence only made him longing for more and that angered Killian most. They had thought it might have been a good idea to keep him there. Snow and this 'Charming' lad, who were her parents – Killian found it a little strange –, had given him their space until they could find a plan regarding him and Gold. He growled at the memory of their discussion.

As drunk as he was that night, every movement, every word, every sound… he had meant it all. He wondered if it was the same for Emma – the way she'd moved her hips against his, the way his name fell off her lips… why hadn't she wanted to discuss it in the morning?

Killian rested his head on his pillow, shutting his eyes and inhaling a deep sigh. The apartment smelled like her – the sweet aroma of coffee and cinnamon. He wasn't particularly fond of the flavour of the beverage, but when the scent wafted through his nostrils, he recalled burying his nose in her hair. It held a certain familiarity with him: distant, but natural in a not-so-ordinary way. He grinned to himself and stared out the window, his eyelids growing heavy.

Outside, the orange glow of the sun was disappearing under a blanket of darkness. The moon was peeking out, tucking away the sun with the stars. Killian shut his eyes and turned over onto his stomach, extending his arms for a stretch. He could feel himself drifting. He allowed his muscles to relax, and soon enough, he was elsewhere: with her in the sheriff's station, the empty bottles of rum and whiskey teetering off the desk and breaking on the floor, their hips rocking against one another's in a drunken frenzy. Her hair was tousled and the papers were in disarray at the foot of her desk. Killian's mouth devoured her neck and his name escaped her lips in whispers that quickly grew to screams.

_Just like every other night_.

Her curves taunted him when he closed his eyes.

_SLAM!_

He wasn't sure how long it had been since he had fallen asleep, but the sound of the door banging shut startled him awake. Killian caught his breath and sat up, wiping the dribbles of sweat that had formed on his brow. He cocked an eyebrow at the light that clicked on at the entrance, spotting Emma's silhouette through the white curtains surrounding the room. Usually she was much quieter when she arrived home so as not to wake him, thus successfully dodging any awkward conversations that may have sparked between them.

Emma didn't hurry in getting upstairs to her room. Instead, he saw her brushing her fingers through her long blond curls. When she walked, her shoes clacked on the floor; she was wearing heels for a reason unbeknownst to him. Her keys hit the counter with another loud slam and his breath hitched when she turned in his direction.

"Hook?"

Emma's voice broke slightly as she called out to him, peeking through the gaps in the curtains.

It took what felt like eons for Killian to get to his feet. He tilted to get a better look at her – her shape was growing clearer and footsteps clicked louder against the hardwood. She stopped just short of the hangings separating them, and waited for his response.

"You've finally come to terms with how much you've missed me, lass?" He chuckled at her, but on the inside it was different. Inside, it _hurt_. Where had she been these past few days, and now she was seeking him out?

The drapes parted and she stepped through, a devilish smile etched on her blood-red lips. She looked… different tonight – her long, curly locks hung over her covered shoulders distinctively, she wore an unusual amount of makeup, and her eyes burned with a fire that Killian recognized.

He looked her up and down, and then up again. Curious article she was wearing – a long trench coat. Upon closer inspection, _his_ trench coat. He knew it by the silver buttons lining the collar, and it was done up tightly, as if to hide something, or _nothing_ – Killian preferred the latter. "I told you you'd make a hell of a pirate," he teased with a low voice. He didn't mind the sight, but would have favoured a situation without the leather.

Well, depends on the leather, he supposed.

Killian grinned at his internal dialogue.

"I never argued that fact," Emma scolded. "I think this look suits me." Her voice was enticing, almost seductive in a way, but Killian didn't mind. As confused as he was, he could not deny that he welcomed it. She admired herself in the coat – it was a little oversized for her, but all Killian could think about was what was underneath, if there even was anything.

_What are you trying to accomplish, lass_?

He took his first few steps toward her, but she only backed away out of the room and into the living room. Killian chased her, his feet moving faster, but Emma only kept sliding away until she had her back to the door. The grin on her face grew slyer and her finger beckoned him, an invitation for him to close in on her.

Killian slammed her against the door, and she cried out, her lips opening ever so slightly to let out a gasp, sending a wave of heat through his veins. His heartbeat was already quickening and he had wanted to push her hair away from her shoulders and consume her. "What are you trying to do?" he hissed through his teeth. The tip of his hook dug into the wooden door on the other side of Emma and she glanced up at it before looking back at him.

"Whatever are you talking about, _captain_?" Emma asked, feigning innocence. She unclasped the top button of the jacket, and Killian held his breath, staring down at the newly revealed skin.

He moaned at her. "You know exactly what I'm talking about." Killian moved away and took a moment to take her in – the jacket, the shoes, the lipstick, her hair. What was she expecting?

He must not have been paying enough attention because when he raised his arm to wrap it around her again, he noticed his hook was missing. Killian stared at her, dumbfounded as she waved it in front of him. "You little minx…"

The cold metal scraped against his chest as she pulled him towards her, goose bumps rising on his skin, and then he felt his back slam against the door, the knob digging into his back. Her fingers gripped the wrist of his good arm, and she held it tightly against the door. His hook nearly nicked his skin as she latched it onto his shirt, holding it to the wood beside his head.

They gave each other a breathless laugh and Emma pressed herself against him.

_Leather pants are so constricting_… He tried to free his arm – he wanted to touch her, to feel the burning of her skin beneath his fingertips, to brush his fingers through her hair – but she had him locked in place, unable to move. He grunted and made another attempt that only made her dig the hook in deeper.

"Oh, how the tables have turned, my dear captain." Emma undid the rest of the buttons of the coat and allowed it into a pile on the floor.

Killian was far too transfixed to move. She revealed a low cut, form-fitting red dress that hugged her every curve. As beautiful as she looked, he wanted nothing more than to tear it off of her with his hook. The heels only made it worse… or better – Killian couldn't tell. The burning knot in his abdomen raged, begging to be released. Emma lingered close to him, tracing her fingers down over his lips, and stopping at his neck. With her other hand, she tore the hook from the door and traced it along his clenched jaw.

"It bites, doesn't it?" she inquired coyly. "The cold metal against your skin." Her mouth fell open slightly and she grinned when a groan erupted from the back of Killian's throat.

"That's my job, love." Killian grabbed for it but she pulled it away from him and slid it behind her back, leaning in, with her chest against his. "What has gotten into you?" It was a rhetorical question more than him being genuinely curious – he didn't mind it.

"Are you sure you don't remember anything?" Emma's lips grazed over his, the warmth of her yearning whispers made him tremble under her spell. He bit back his objection to the hook at his waistline now, kissing his skin. She latched it onto his pants and slammed his hips into hers, eliciting another growl from him.

Killian tried to swallow past the lump forming in his throat. "Anything what?" was all he could manage. His mouth was dry.

"Don't make me ask again, _captain_."

"Call me that again and you won't be whispering much longer, love." He smirked against her mouth, and she snickered. Killian let her wrap her leg around his waist, drawing him in closer. When she didn't flinch at his hand on her hips, he moved it to the small of her back, his fingers nestling into that dip in her back that Killian loved so much.

"That didn't answer my question." Her hands were clutching his collar now and she was pulling him forward, his steps matching hers as she roamed to the couch, stringing Killian along. She lifted her leg and pushed him down onto the seat and Emma lowered herself to her knees between his legs. "Do I have to try again?"

Emma's fingers were toying with the buttons of his shirt now – button by button, air found his skin and Killian shivered. His entire world quaked when her hands found his stomach, running up and tightening around the coarse hairs on his chest.

"Emma…" he uttered under his breath. He remembered how her name fell from his lips that night, and how it sounded when she said his name – when she called him_ Killian_. He wanted to reach for her, pull her over him and kiss her with every bit of his being, but there was something stopping him. She hadn't kissed him yet, and he had wanted to be confident that it was what she craved, too. There was something about her grin that clouded his bliss with doubt.

"How far do you need me to go, captain?"

_There it is again_.

"Will you _please_ enlighten me as to what the bloody hell is going on?" All Killian wanted was an answer. He couldn't help but lick his lips as one of the straps of Emma's dress fell off of her shoulder, draping itself around her arm.

Emma pouted at him. "You've been acting strange for the past few days," she began. Her legs slid over him and soon, her face was above his and her hair cloaked the sides of their faces, tickling Killian's neck.

"_I'm _the one acting strange?" A sudden anger burst inside his chest, and he found himself raising his voice at her, but she didn't shy away. She held her ground, and now her heel was rubbing against his leg. "You've been the one avoiding _me_. Coming home late, and leaving early. I've wanted to discuss it since as long as it's been, and _– bloody hell_ woman, what are you doing?" His belt was undone now and she'd torn it out of his pant loops and tossed it to the floor. He rolled his head back as a flush of heat pulsed through him, and he'd lost control. He sat up and placed her gently onto his lap, but that was the end of it. His hand found its way to her thigh and rested there – she was warm and he was growing weary of her game.

"If it's not me you want, then what is it?" he snarled in an attempt to regain any last flicker of restraint he had over his own body. "If it's me you want, you only need say the words, Emma." It had been over three hundred years since he'd been with a woman like that. Three hundred years since he'd felt the warmth of a woman's skin over his… it was painful to sit here and wonder if she'd truly wanted it, too.

"So you do remember…" Emma asked, playfully wringing her fingers in his hair.

Killian's breath caught in his throat – Emma's dress slowly crawled up as she moved her hips against him now, and he grew desperate for any friction. She came down gave his bottom lip a nibble, but she pulled away too quickly for him to crash his lips against hers. Killian was hungry, but couldn't taste. "Of course I do, and clearly, so do you." He paused and let their breaths linger between them for a moment. "Else you wouldn't be here. So can we both agree that we lied and get this over with?"

"That's all I wanted to hear, captain." Emma pushed herself away from him, waggling his hook in his face. She got to her feet slowly and with a toss of her hair, she was making her way toward the stairs to her room, hips swaying.

Her entire demeanor did a turnaround. She looked at him through her cold, blue eyes, brows furrowed and her red lips turned down into a grimace. "I told you I was good at knowing when someone is lying to me," she drawled. "Good night, Hook." Her voice was low and cold now, brimming with irritation and the like.

Killian was left speechless. He stood up – maybe a little too quickly – and meant to go after her, but his feet didn't take him to her. Instead, he stood rooted and frozen, a million thoughts running through his head. He opened his mouth to say something, but the only sound that came out was an offended sputter.

Her shoes were clacking against the steps now, and Emma was still waving the hook at her shoulder, granting him not one single look back over her shoulder.

"Well that's not even playing fair," he called out to her. Emma didn't respond. Killian groaned in frustration, snatched his belt from the floor and turned on his heel back to the room, listening to Emma's laugh echo from upstairs.

Killian pushed the drapes aside and slumped himself down on his bed. This whole thing had been some kind of nasty scheme to coerce it out of him – not entirely fair on her part. _You didn't even want to discuss it when I asked, woman._ He let out a long sigh and rolled onto his stomach again, his eyes wandering to the night sky. Maybe one day, there wouldn't need to be an excuse – drunken or not – for him to be with a woman. For him to be with _Emma_. She was all he wanted… all he'd ever wanted: brilliant, strong, and beautiful. Three hundred years was a long time, but Killian Jones loved a challenge.

"Not bloody fair at all…" _How the tables turned, indeed_.


End file.
